The Fall of the Wonderful Wizard of Moz
by Amory Sparkly Bat
Summary: The fall of the wonderful wizard of Moz has begun, and it all started with Neal Caffrey's beard. This is a re-telling of White Collar canon from Mozzie's perspective. This is the first half of Season 1, from the 'Pilot' to 'Free Fall', first person Mozzie.


**Title: **The Fall of the Wonderful Wizard of Moz (Season 1, First Half)  
**Author:** Amory Puck (pucktheperv on LJ & Tumblr)  
**Rating: **PG  
**Warnings:** None (Canon Based Gen-Fic)  
**Word Count:** 8,923  
**Summary: **The fall of the wonderful wizard of Moz has begun, and it all started with Neal Caffrey's beard. This is a re-telling of White Collar canon from Mozzie's perspective. This is the first half of Season 1, from the 'Pilot' to 'Free Fall', first person Mozzie.

**Author's Notes: **This fic is sort of a gap filler, so if you haven't watched Season 1 of WC then you probably won't understand it. It's written for the 'Forced to Rely on Enemy/Rival' square of my H/C Bingo Card for hc_bingo on LJ. (I did a loose interpretation of the prompt, having Mozzie retell the show with remorse that he has become a Suit helper, hehe.)

o o o

**The Fall of the Wonderful Wizard of Moz**

o o o**  
**

_It is a cruel, crul world. Make that cruel. Thee must excuseth my mistypes. Though my 1937 Underwood #5 typewriter is a steadfast friend, she is fickle when it comees to the accidental tap of the kjey. But being totally unhackable by government, space aliens, and even that Hardison boy who runs in Nate Ford's Robin Hood version of a crew makes up for it._

[NOTE: Unfortunately I cannot hide my mistakes since, as a proud supporter of the Bill to Reveal Everything that my Orwellian book clubb is trying to slip into Congress, I have sworn to abstain from the use of White Out, oh the wicke d substance, lobotomizing the truuth everywhere ye are spread.]

So, now I go forth to telleth my tale, that it shall never be wiped away by misanthropic hackers or former president Nixon's loyal cult or even the terrible Bic corporation.

This is the tale of the slow tumble of one proudly paranoid criminal into the diarrhetic pit of the Man's finest demons. It shall forever hence be known as The Fall of the Wonderful Wizard of Moz. Strangely enough, it all started with a beard.

o o o

"What is that on your face?"

Neal didn't answer, much too busy staring numbly down at his fingernails with an artistically mournful look in his eyes.

"I'm glad they let the nail polish I sent you through the checkpoint," I said dryly as the king of divas continued to study his well manicured cuticles like they held the answers to Area 51. Seriously, the guy's nails were *perfect*. There had to be some kind of magic involved. His hair looked pretty good too, which was exceptional considering his… special circumstances. See, I was the only person in the Milky Way galaxy who knew that he permed it once a month. It's amazing the kind of secrets a man will spill after six rounds of Jack with a side of rum and Coke and a vodka toast to the most beautiful breasts ever painted.

The second I'd peeked through the glass, the alarm bells had gone in my head off louder than a fire drill at a school for the (mostly) deaf. Something was obviously very, very off. Aside from his unflattering orange wardrobe, Neal looked as fantabulous as ever… except for one little thing. The dead raccoon he was wearing on his face.

"Mozzie to Neal, come in Neal," I said, waving my hand around in front of the glass that separated us.

Neal raised his oversized anime eyes at me, a shimmer of tears giving him the look of an old Hollywood maiden whose true love just forced her at gunpoint into a plane with her all but forgotten husband as the German army is about to descend.

I have got to stop watching Masterpiece Theater: Movie Edition. Hell, I have got to stop watching PBS entirely.

"She left me, Moz," Neal moaned, letting his head fall forward to thump into the glass. "She's *gone.*" Thump. "She *left* me." Thump.

"Wow," I said in very much faked surprise. "The cafeteria lady turned you down? I didn't think obese women the age of my Grandma Elsie turned down *anyone.* Maybe it's just her hot flashes getting in the way. I'm sure she'll be up for some shoving in the oven next week."

Neal glared, not that it was particularly menacing. There's just something about a bad home perm and a quivering lower lip that really drops the intimidation factor. "It's not funny, Moz. She *left* me."

I sighed, running a hand over my scalp. "Man, she's left you a thousand times! Last time I checked, you got *caught* because she *left* you. Maybe this is a good thing."

"No, it's not!" Neal snapped, sounding like a pouty three year old. "You don't understand, Moz. I'm in *love.*"

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yadda, yadda, yadda big woohoo. Romantics were *exhausting*. Maybe I should have stuck with my Detroit gig. Dealing with artists was like spending every day crammed on a sofa between Alanis Morisette and Yanni, forced to watch endless reruns of 'Dawson's Creek' and 'Gilmore Girls' on TLC. The mob could only kill you. Artists could drive you *insane.*

"Yeah, okay, okay. I'm really sorry, man. That sucks. But, if I may ask once more, what, exactly, is that on your face?"

Neal reached up, petting the dead raccoon like it was his love child. "It's my way out."

Ah. Okay. That explained *everything.* "So you're going to grow that raccoon carcass until it's the size of a wildabeast, wait for a magical hurricane big enough to fly you over a rainbow, and ride out on its back in a wave of glory. Great plan. I approve. Kate will totally dig that."

"Once again: Not funny, Mozzie." Neal leaned forward. The tears were gone from his eyes, replaced by the kind of sparkle I actually liked, the sparkle that said my mildly prissy prodigy was about to hoist a 'fuck you' the size of a Trojan horse's biggest shit right in the face of The Man. "Let's just say that the sparrow has risen and the yacht of paradise is about to flee the harbor."

Wait… He was going to *escape*? Now? With three months left on his damn sentence? My mouth dropped open. "Neal," I said, using the sort of tone I usually saved for babies, rednecks, and alley cats, "you have three months. Three *months*, man. And you're going to escape *now*?"

"I know," he said, shrugging. "But the yacht has to soar as soon as possible or the sparrow is going to sink."

"Stop mixing metaphors," I snapped. "This is *insane,* Neal. No, forget insane, this is *stupid.* The yacht needs to stay in the damn dock."

"You don't understand," Neal said, instantly transforming back into his Deeply Sorrowful Lovesick Artist face. "I have to find her."

I gritted my teeth. "Look, Neal—"

"Hey, you!" A loud voice called out, making me jump slightly. "How long does it take to fix a damn pipe?"

I pushed away from the window, raising a hand at the guard shouting at me from the main entrance. "Almost done!" I called out. "Be right there!" When he looked away I leaned back in, glaring at Neal through the little window outside the kitchen pantry. "Look, I have to go. But Neal… Don't do this, okay? It's not worth it, not even for Kate."

"You don't understand, Mozzie."

I sighed, shaking my head. "Whatever, man. It's your ass on the line. But don't expect me to be there to bail you out. You know, since they probably won't set a bail at all." I reached down, pulling a small, paper wrapped package from my bag. "Considering that this most likely has something to do with the yacht exiting the harbor only to sink in the bay, I probably shouldn't give it to you. But, being the good friend I am, here you go." I pressed it through the small crack of space we'd managed to jimmy open between the window and the wall so we could talk. "One package for Mr. Steve Tabernacle, courtesy of a credit card traceable to the warden's wife." I shook my head in disbelief. "Brazen much, Neal?"

The kid flashed me a smile. Seriously, if he'd spent a little less money on his caps, he'd probably wouldn't have had to forge bonds at all. That mouthful of perfect teeth *had* to have cost a fortune. "Thanks, Moz. You're a real friend."

"No, no I'm not, because real friends don't let friends sail their yachts with three months left," I replied, shaking my head, a sick feeling rising in my gut. "Just take care of yourself, okay, Neal?"

"Don't worry, Moz," Neal said, a little too dreamily for my comfort. "Once I find Kate, everything will all be fine. You'll see."

"Yeah, I'll see a Wanted poster hanging in the subway," I muttered to myself as he disappeared. I shook my head as I jumped off the box I'd been standing on, bending down to stuff the tools I'd dropped on the ground back into my belt. "This is not going to end well."

o o o

"Hey, Mozzie, how's it hanging, dude?"

I jumped as a big hand came down on my head, rubbing it like It was Buddha's belly. I scowled and stepped away pointedly as Matt McGullity grinned down at me. "McGullity," I said sourly, setting the old Atari system I'd been inspecting back on the shelf. "You need to wear a bell around your neck or something. Give me a heart attack why don't you?"

"Whoa… Look at this," the big oaf said, picking the Atari back up. "I used to have one of these."

"Alien made," I snapped, snatching it out of his hand and sticking it back on the shelf once more. "Definitely not of earth origin. You should go and get a full body scan if you played it. You never know what the aliens will leave in your bloodstream." I put my hands on my hips. "What are you even doing here? I thought we agreed that this pawn shop was mine on Wednesdays. Step on my toes and I'll tell Donny Bayer that you were the one that flipped his forgery and called it your own last Fall."

"Chill out, Mozz-man," McGullity said, still sporting his goofy grin. "I'm not here to hunt, I'm here to chat."

I sniffed at him, putting my nose in the air. "I swear that if you ever call me Mozz-man again, I will remove your testicles with a pair of rusty tweezers." I moved away from the shelf, heading for the door, not interested in wasting my afternoon chatting with the biggest doofus in the forger community.

"Hey man," McGullity called out as he caught up with me. "Hold on! I just wanted to ask you if Caffrey really got caught."

I froze, turning around very slowly, a wash of nerves rolling over me. "Excuse me?"

McGullity stared at me seriously. "You mean you haven't heard? Word on the street is, he ran for it and the Feds tracked him down. He's back in the pen. Or that's what they say. I thought you might know for sure."

Dammit, Neal, damn, damn, damn! "The yacht left the dock," I moaned, letting my head drop back as I covered my eyes. "Of *course* the yacht left the dock. Dammit, Neal!" I dropped my hands with a sigh, a feeling of depression rising in my chest. So close. He'd been so close. Just a few more months and my best friend and compatriot would be a free man again. Instead he had to throw it all away, jumping on the damn yacht like he owned the club. "I've got to go," I said in a flat voice, pushing the door to the shop. "Later, McG.

"Hey, Mozz-man, wait!"

"A pair of rusty tweezers awaits you the next time I see you, McGullity," I called out as the door swung shut behind me, though my heart wasn't really in it. How could it be, when it was so busy breaking for Neal?

Damn that sparrow and its rising wings.

o o o

Neal's home perm routine had obviously been disturbed. His hair was as flat and lifeless as he looked, and he looked pretty damn lifeless. Flat too, but that was because his upper body was flayed out on the table in the interrogation room like he was planning to sleep on there.

"I'm such an idiot," Neal said, lifting his head up and letting it thump back down onto the table. "I missed her." Thump. "I can't believe I missed her." Thump. "I am such an idiot for missing her!" Thump.

"Will you stop slamming your head?" I asked in annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared him down. "It's going to be hard to explain why a visit with your lawyer led to a baseball sized bruise on your face. I'd rather not be mistaken for the abusive boyfriend again, okay?"

"I dunno why they always think you're my boyfriend," Neal moaned, lifting his head up and thumping it down again. "My girlfriend visits me every week. Or she did before she *left me.*"

The man could really mope.

"Well, I guess 'girlfriend' could be mistaken for 'friend who is a girl,'" I replied, tugging at my scarf. "You two do spend an inordinate amount of time discussing moisturizing treatments."

Neal looked up, shooting me an annoyed glance. "Appreciation of proper grooming has nothing to do with a man's sexuality."

"Oh, you don't have to tell *me* that," I said, smirking a little. "I mean, I know about Ru Paul's secret wife. Alas, I guess the prison guards are not so open minded."

"The scary thing is, I don't know if you're joking about the Ru Paul thing or not," Neal replied, sighing as he pushed himself up sat back in his chair.

"Everyone has their secrets," I said with a shrug.

"So give it to me straight. What am I up against?" Neal said, a nervous look coming over his face. And he damn well should be nervous, considering what he'd gotten himself into. The poor kid was screwed.

"It's pretty bad, man. There's not really anything we can do. You'll get another four years if you're *lucky.* Honestly, I don't know how much time you'll do."

Neal let out a moan, rubbing a hand across his face, and I felt a flitter of guilt. I *was* the one who had gotten Neal into this life, after all. Scamming card games and cheating at billiards might get you beaten up in an alley, but it wouldn't get you locked up in maximum security prison for half your life. I had started Neal in this scene and so, in a very existential way, I was responsible for him ending up here.

"I have to get out, Moz," Neal said urgently. "I have to find her."

Okay, that was enough of that. Neal had bigger fish to fight than Kate. Hell, the sharks were closing in on him and he was hemorrhaging blood! "Dammit, Neal," I snapped, gripping the edge of the table. "This is serious! This is your *life.* Maybe you should worry a little less about Kate and a little more about what you're going to do when stuck in a communal shower with Big Johnny waiting for you to drop the soap!"

Neal's lip curled up in disgust. "I don't use that soap they give us. Kate sends me the scented stuff in a bottle." His eyes went teary again. "Or she used to. But now she's left me and I don't smell like roses anymore."

Oh dear Lord almighty. "Well, heaven forbid you don't smell like roses in the middle of a federal prison," I said with a snort. "Tell me again how you managed to avoid being forced to wear a crop top and lip gloss while an oversized mob boss hauls you around by your panties?"

"There's nothing wrong with wearing gloss," Neal shot back. "It keeps my lips from chapping."

Right. "You're definitely an artist," I said. "Fitting every single stereotype. But do you think that we could maybe focus on the important things like, you know, your upcoming *sentencing*? You could do up to ten extra years for this stunt."

Neal's mopey attitude was gone in an instant, replaced with an excited gleam. My brow furrowed. Mood swing much?

"I have a plan, Moz" Neal said, an almost manic smile on his face. "I talked to Agent Burke—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I interrupted, holding up a hand. "You spoke to Burke? Agent *Peter* Burke? Your good friend 'Mr. Sucker' Burke? The Fed you taunted for three years, very much against my recommendation? *That* Agent Burke? The one who *put you away*?"

"No, the other one," Neal said sarcastically. "The one with the argyle socks and the purple beret who works in the Vice department as an undercover escort. Yeah, that Agent Burke. *The* Agent Burke."

"What are you doing talking with Feds at all?" I demanded. "Hello! They're the *enemy.*"

"I know, I know," Neal said. "But like I said, I have a plan. See, Burke is looking for the Dutchman—"

"*The* Dutchman?" I asked in disbelief. "The invisible forger? He's a freaking ghost!"

"Will you stop interrupting me?" Neal snapped, sounding exasperated. "And yes, the Dutchman. I'm going to offer to help the Feds catch him in exchange for Agent Burke taking me on as Confidential Informant." He sat back, looking rather proud of himself. Very, very proud of himself, in fact.

I just stared at him. "Seriously? *That's* your plan? Talk Burke into taking you in like a lost puppy?"

Neal's brow furrowed slightly. "Not like a puppy. More like a hunting dog."

I snorted. "Oh, man, not a good metaphor. Puppy I can see. You've got the eyes. Hunting dog? I don't think Pomeranians sniff out ducks, Neal."

"I am *not* a Pomeranian," Neal replied, looking annoyed, his nose in the air. It looked very lapdoggish, actually.

"Fine," I said, smirking a little. "Chihuahua."

"I'm not a chihuahua, either!"

"Toy poodle?"

"No!"

"Pug?"

"Dammit, Moz, will you shut up?"

I let out a sharp laugh. "I'm just saying, man. Maybe you think you're an Irish Setter or a Coonhound or whatever, but I'm pretty sure Burke will be on my side with the lapdog thing. And as much as every man who has ever worn a rainbow sticker on his pink Under Armor shorts would like you on his lap, I don't think that's Burke's thing."

"You watch," Neal said confidently. "He'll go for it. I know he will."

o o o

"Four more years." Thump. "I've got four more years!" Thump. "And I don't even have scented shampoo anymore." Thump. "Or a private cell." Thump. "My cellmate's name is *Bubba.*" Thump. "He's *enormous.*" Thump. "He dumped my watercolors in the toilet." Thump.

"I take it that your little plan with the Feds didn't work out?" I asked as I settled myself in the chair across from Neal.

"Noooo," he moaned, lifting his head enough to shoot me a teary eyed look. "He didn't go for it."

"What a shocker," I replied sarcastically. "Look, Neal, I'm sorry, I really am. But you're better off without them. You know what the government is like. If they faked a moon landing, imagine what they could do to you. If he *had* accepted your offer… I bet he'd have the tools for the lobotomy in the goddamn car waiting for him."

Neal just moaned, shaking his head. "I can't believe this is happening. His name is *Bubba*, Moz. That's his *real* name. Who the hell names their kid *Bubba*? Did I mention he's *enormous*? He made me sleep on the *floor.* I have *dirt* under my fingernails." He held up his hand, face twisting in disgust. "Look at them."

"Wow," I said, trying my best to hide my amusement. It really wasn't funny. Being in prison had sucked even when Neal was living the cushier life. Now that they'd stuck him in Gen Pop, he could get into some real trouble. But still. The fingernail thing? Definitely funny. "That's terrible, Neal. I'll try and sneak you in a manicure kit, okay?"

"Don't bother," he said, dropping his head back down on the table. "Bubba will just sell it for cigarettes."

"Do I even want to know who in Sing Sing would want to purchase a manicure kit?" I asked.

"No," Neal said, rubbing his face on his arm like a cat. "You don't. You *really* don't. Seriously, forty year old bald men should *not* wear women's underwear. It's just not right. Not right at all."

I frowned, smacking the table with my fist. "Hey, are you implying that I look less than amazing in ladies' lingerie?"

Neal gave a snort of laughter, lifting his head up again. "I think I like your hipster look better, man, but whatever makes you feel sexy."

"I am *not* hipster," I replied, adjusting my glasses. "I wore thick frames *before* the Apple minions made it cool. And I have *always* worn cardigans with tweed trousers."

"True," Neal said dryly. "You're right, forgive me. You looked like a geek way before geek was chic."

"Thank you," I replied stiffly. "So… I guess the real question is, when does the yacht set sail from the dock once more?"

Neal's face fell. "I don't think it's going to, Moz," he said, going teary eyed again. "Why escape? I have nothing to run to. Kate's gone."

Because Kate was the center of the universe and if he couldn't tap that, why not live in a tiny cell that smelled like feces and sweat for the rest of his life? Seriously, this crap was enough to make you want to vomit. Damn romantics. "Gee, I dunno, maybe so you won't have to live in a eight by ten cell with a giant named Bubba?" I shot back. "This isn't about Kate anymore, Neal. It's about *you.* Do you really want to waste another four years behind bars? Plan another trip on the yacht. I'll help with the reservations. We don't need a sparrow to set sail."

"Agent Burke will just find me again," Neal said, propping his head on his hand. "I know he will. It's useless."

"Wow, when did you get so Fed-whipped?" I asked, a little annoyed. "We're brilliant, Neal. I think we can outsmart one agent."

"This isn't just any agent, Mozzie. This is *Agent Burke.*"

I rolled my eyes. "Keep talking like that and I'm going to think you have a thing for him."

Neal sighed. "It's true, though. The him being able to catch me thing, not the having a thing for him thing." He squeezed his eyes shut. "God, Moz, I don't know what I'm going to do. Just… give me some time, okay? I need to think."

I shook my head and stood, slipping my bag over my shoulder.. "Okay, Neal. Whatever. But when you decide to take the yacht for another spin, give me a ring, okay compadre?"

Neal gave me a wobbly smile. "I will. Thanks, Moz."

o o o

The phone rang and I let out a moan, reaching blindly for it. Monday was not very well lit, being an abandoned building and all, and without my glasses I was pretty much reduced to the blind man's method of finding things. You know, slapping around until whatever you were looking for hit you in the face.

I managed to catch it on the final ring, putting it to my ear. "This is Mozzie-rella Pizza," I said groggily, "will this be for pickup or delivery?"

"Hey, Moz, it's me!"

I collapsed back on the bed, yawning widely. "It's you who?"

"You who. Like 'yoooohoooo!'" The voice on the phone didn't hold back, sounding like they belonged in 'The Sound of Music' singing a song about yodeling to goats. "That's funny. It's me, Moz!"

"Neal?" I asked in disbelief, shoving my glasses on my face so I could read the clock. God, it was three in the morning. Prisons didn't let you make personal calls at three in the morning, but Neal was the only person in the world I knew shameless enough to yodel in public. And I *had* seen him yodel in public before. The poor couple at that Turkish restaurant were probably still scarred.

"Sorry to call so late, but I was getting settled in."

Settled in? "Neal, what are you talking about?"

"I'm out, Moz!"

What the hell? "Wait… did the yacht set sail without me?" I couldn't help it if I sounded mildly offended. I had, explicitly, told him to let me know when he started the engines on his fancy ass escape boat, after all.

"No, no," Neal said quickly, and I could practically see him shaking his head. "It's the thing with the Feds. Burke decided he wants my help after all."

I sat up abruptly, horror slamming me in the gut. Neal had made a deal with the Feds? Was he out of his mind?! "Please tell me you're kidding," I said hoarsely, the mere idea making me want to run to grab the vase on my bedside, dump out the Pixie Sticks and puke in it.

"Nope! I am officially an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Hell is the highest reward the devil can offer you for being a servant of his! Think about that, Neal?"

There was a pause. "Did you really just quote an evangelical preacher?"

I scowled. "Not the point! It's all about the context anyway. But seriously, Neal, are you out of your mind? Have they said anything about lobotomies yet? Have you seen any scalpels? Any medical equipment at all?" The words were coming out too fast, matching the pounding of my heart. This was not good. This was not good at all. In fact, I was pretty sure that this was the worst thing that could possibly happen. Government agents were the most arrogant sons of bitches out there. They didn't care about Neal's good, just what he could do for him, how they could use him. And using without caring never turned out good. "They're going to do you wrong, Neal!"

"Relax, Moz. I'm staying at a real nice place. Not on the FBI's bill, of course. They dumped me in a motel that made my cell look glamorous. There was *mold* in the *shower*. Can you believe that? How the hell am I supposed to perm my hair in a sink with rusty pipes? Oh, God, the *bed.* I could smell the semen from across the room. The pot had *vomit* next to it. Nasty. And there was this wretched dog. Ugh. Then Burke is all 'oh, you need to cowboy up, hey look at that hooker over there, you can't get that in prison, can you?'"

He laughed musically, obviously flying high as a spy satellite.

"I'm thinking, uh, yeah, I could probably get that in prison 'cause I'm pretty sure it was a man in drag," Neal continued, sounding mildly disgusted. "And even if she did have a vagina, can you imagine where her mouth's been? Then the guy at the counter offered to find me a pimp. It was terrifying. Luckily I ran into a millionaire widow at the thrift store and she's letting me live with her."

Amazing. He'd been out of jail ten minutes and he already had a sugar mamma. Talk about talent. "How come I never run into millionaires at the thrift store?"

There was a short silence, like Neal was actually considering the question.

"You know, man, I don't know. I mean, it can't be that uncommon, right? This has to be the third time I've met a wealthy woman in a random place and ended up living in her house. Maybe it's the hair?"

"Ouch. Hit a bald man where it hurts," I replied, a little sourly.

"Oh. Sorry, Moz." I could hear him wincing. "That's not what I meant. I think it's the curls, you know?"

"Well, thank Allah that you have a safe place to perm your 'do now," I said, a little sarcastically. "Does the Suit know about your new uptown girl yet?"

"Nah, but I left him a note. Signed it XOXO, Neal." He laughed loudly.

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, letting out a huff of laughter. "You signed a note to the *Feds* with 'hugs and kisses'?"

There was a pause. "What?" Neal sounded confused.

My lip curled up in amusement. "That's what XOXO *means*, Neal. Hugs and kisses. Didn't you go to kindergarten? I was in the gifted program and even I made pretty little pink cards around Valentines Day."

"Yeah, kindergarten was great. I loved making paper flowers. Still do. I wonder if there are any craft groups around here? I'm thinking about taking up scrapbooking... Anyway, Peter will find out in the morning. I bet he's going to flip his shit. I can't wait to see his face."

"Yes, because pissing off the Suit who holds Puppy's leash is the *best* way to stay out of prison," I said, rolling my eyes. "Maybe you should be careful. We don't want him bringing out the shock collar. It might frizz your hair."

"Haha," Neal said with a huff. "For the last time, I am *not* on anyone's leash. No doggy collar here. Well, okay, I am on a tracker, but that's not kinky like a leash. Which, by the way, I need you to take a looksie at. See what you can do about it."

"Oh, looking to slip the leash already, are we?" I said, smiling broadly. "That's the Neal I know and love. I'll check it out." Maybe Neal could still be saved, even if he had become an Honorary Suit.

"Oh, and I need you to look for any signs of Kate, too, okay?"

Or maybe not. Seriously, this obsession was going to *ruin* him.

I sighed. "All right, Neal. I'll do what I can, okay? I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Moz."

"No problem," I muttered to myself as the phone went dead. "I'm only sacrificing my *soul* by helping out someone with ties to the Man. It's not like it's my penis or anything."

o o o

Morse code for 'bottle.' You had to be kidding me. I stared down at the wine bottle, scowling. A message in a bottle, huh? I sure didn't see any message, other than the fact that the label read 'Bordeaux' but the shape of the bottle was totally wrong. Somebody had switched the labels on this shit long before Neal and Kate had dug it out of a Dumpster or wherever they pulled it from, but that was nothing to dance about. Neal was a clever guy. He had to have known even the bottle was a goddamn fake, but probably hadn't had the heart to tell Kate. It would have been over her head, anyway.

Lots of things were over Kate's head. Neal must have loved her for her breasts, because there was no way he loved her for his brains.

Why my friend couldn't let a dead dog rot away, I didn't know. I say let the maggots consume the remnants of their tumultuous relationship. Neal could do so much better. Maybe not hotter, but better. Nah, he could do hotter, too. Ladies really *did* seem to love the home perm. If I had the hair, I might even give it a try. Hm. I wonder if you can perm a toupee? Nah, probably not a good idea.

At least this was a mission outside of the FBI insanity Neal had been sucked into. Mission: Finding Kate may have been a foolish pass time, but it had no apparent ties to the Suit, thank God, because I was sick already of dealing with the Suit.

It was disturbing how close Neal was getting to that damn Fed. It was like they'd fallen into some weird father-son complex, as if Neal didn't have enough daddy issues to begin with. Burke was an All American Man, pretty much the total opposite of artistic, refined Neal, but somehow they meshed. Yup, definitely disturbing, and dangerous, too. Even if I trusted the government not to sell Neal's organs for oil rights, this wacky partnership would still fall under 'dangerous.'

The Feds might say that criminals couldn't be trusted but, in my opinion, it was the other way around. You could trust a criminal to be sneaky, to look out for his own good, and to take advantage of the situation. The Feds did the same things, they just didn't admit it aloud. So who's the liar now

"You see anything?" I asked Akira, leaning over his shoulder to study the bottle under the infared light.

"Zen zen. It looks like only a bottle, Mozzie-kun," the Japanese man said, giving me a shrug. "The label is fake, bottle shape wrong for Bordeaux like label say, but you know that, yes?"

"Hai," I agreed with a sigh. "But that's not a message from Kate. It's always been like that. I think Neal pulled it out of a forger's trash bin. Kate was a bubble head anyway, she wouldn't notice."

He dipped a finger in the bottle then put it in his mouth, grimacing. "Wine inside is very cheap, from box maybe. Jitsu wa, I think there no message at all. "

"Hontou?" I questioned, adjusting my glasses like that was going to make a treasure map magically appear.

"Hai, I am sure. Or as sure as can be. Sumimasen."

"It's okay. Not your fault." I shook my head. "Well, I appreciate you taking the time to look at it, Akira-kun. At least Neal will know we did all we could. The whole thing… baka na. Ridiculous, really. He needs to get on with his life already."

"You are good friend, Mozzie-kun. Just keep support him and all will work out I am sure."

I gave him a tired smile. "Arigatou, Akira-kun. I guess I had better head out. I'm going to run a few more tests, just in case. Maybe take it to Jameson's lab and see if he can find out which box wine was in it, see if that leads anywhere."

"Gambatte kudasai."

I gave a short laugh. "Thanks, but I'm going to need more than luck to find Kate. I'm going to need a goddamn miracle."

o o o

"'Dear Neeeal,'" I said in a whiny voice as I began rearranging my Dr. Who memorabilia on the shelf. It was time for Friday's spring cleaning, it being fall and all, and boy howdy was she a tough one to clean. All of my sci fi toys were here. "Heard you're looking for me, she says. No shit, Sherlock. Or should I say Ms. Adler? He's *always* looking for you and you *always* lead him into a goddamn trap." I raised my pitch, doing the whiny voice again. "Time is not on our siiiide. If it was, I would totally tell you what was going. I mean, okay, I had three hours to pen this note and could have just told you where I am like a big girl, but I prefer to act like a pimply seventh grader getting her period for the first time."

My bust of Tom Baker looked at me in amusement.

"'You *consume* my thoooughts, Neal." I dropped the bad Kate imitation, going back to my mumbling as I picked up a TARDIS pencil holder and dusted underneath it. "Because you're such a thought eater, Neal. You chew them up like a placenta that just popped out of your manly birth canal."

I settled my favorite stuffed Dalek back in place and hopped off the chair, heading toward the bookcase on the other side of the room, scowl still in place as I resumed my Kate impression..

"'So please stop looking, Neeeal. I totally want you to stop looking. That's why I put together a freakish treasure hunt, so you'd stop looking for me. Not because I'm an attention whore or anything like *that*. So even though I spent countless hours designing an obstacle course for you to stumble through just to leave you a stupid note and am making it clear in this letter that I still want to fuck your brains out, please move on, my dear beloved Neeeal. I realize that the image of our hot bodies writhing together during coitus is arousing, but you *gotta* move on, Neeeal. Okay? 'Kay. Bye now!" Irritating bitch. Neal and I had been much better off before her.

I sighed. This was getting old, fast. For all I knew, Kate had hired the man with the ring to pose with her just to turn Neal into a love sick fool. And this was not my paranoia talking. It wouldn't be the first time she'd used another guy to drive my friend to levels of insanity even I found disturbing.

As I stood on my tiptoes, trying to reach my Russian spy equipment with the feather duster, there was a strangely pleasurable vibrating against my groin area. A smile spread slowly across my face at the sensation. *This* was why fanny packs were invented.

After savoring the feeling for a moment I reached in and pulled out my cellphone, raising an eyebrow at the name on the caller ID. Who the hell would be calling me from the 'Enchantment Spa'? Okay, that was a stupid question. There was only one person who would call me from a spa.

"Hello, Neal," I said dryly as I put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Mozzie! How did you know it was me? I'm calling from a public phone."

I rolled my eyes, but schooled my voice into innocence. "Just a guess. I don't get that many calls, you know."

"Right. Anyway, guess what?" Neal said, obviously excited. I could practically hear him bouncing.

"Hm, let me think… You ran into Kate at the spa?" I questioned innocently. "And managed to sneak her out by sticking little cucumbers over the man with the ring's eyes?"

There was a long silence before Neal spoke, voice sounding stiff. "I don't go to spas."

Yeah, and Neil Armstrong really set foot on lunar soil.

"Mr. Caffrey, are you ready for your pedicure?" a soft female voice called out over the phone. I held back my chuckles as Neal pretended to clear his throat.

His voice grew tinny, a rustling sound almost hiding the words. "Uh, be right there, Cindy." Another rustling and he was back to his normal voice. "Anyway, guess what I found?"

"I give up," I said, giving my stethoscope collection a little spurt of Windex. "What happened?"

"I found a code in Kate's note!"

I grimaced. Not this again. He'd "found" five already, including 'The cow danced on the moon' and 'Pepper street center is groovy.' Not exactly his best code work. "Another one? Man, I still don't think she was trying to say 'Rudolph knows the sky is falling in Kenya,' okay? You had to fold the paper thirty-nine ways to get that, Neal. I am not booking a flight to Africa on Christmas Eve just because you joined the origami craft group at the rec center and haven't stopped folding paper since."

"No, no," Neal said, voice urgent. "This is a real one. I swear it is. I didn't even have to fold it into a daffodil to find it. You've got to come see!"

"Seeing isn't always believing," I replied shortly, sending a silent apology to Martin Luther King Junior for using his deep words in such a sad situation.

"Come on, Moz," Neal said, sounding annoyed. "This is a real message, I swear. Come see."

I let out a deep sigh. "Yeah, okay, okay, I'll be there."

o o o

"How could this happen?" Thump. "Who is that bastard?" Thump. "Why is he *doing* this to me?" Thump. "I can't believe this." Thump.

"Neal, quit banging your head on the table," I said mildly, taking a sip of wine. Ah, nothing like the taste of a good 1998 burgundy on the palate.

Neal looked up, his blue eyes having defaulted back to the soulful, teary mode he always got when Kate screwed him over.

"Well, the whole thing definitely took some thought, so whoever is behind this is smart," I said, trying to distract him from his melancholy before he became the first person to actually die from it, all the diagnoses from the late 1800s aside. "Pay phones don't ring. Someone rigged that phone so that Kate could call you without taking the risk that we might be able to trace the call. Pay phones are outdated as hell. There's no caller ID information to collect."

"Kate could have done it herself," Neal said, propping his head on one hand.

I burst out laughing, shaking my head at the image of Kate kneeling down in front of a pay phone in the dead of night, fumbling through her sequin clutch looking for a mini screwdriver. "That's a good one, man."

Neal scowled at me, making my eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "What, you were serious? Come on, Neal. Look, she made a good third man, but she's no chess master. In fact, I'm not sure she'd even fall under 'checkers master.' Maybe 'tick tack toe' master? 'Rock paper scissors' master? 'Naked drinking game' master?"

"Okay, I get it," Neal said, rolling his eyes. "You're right. She's not always the brightest color on the canvas, but that's not why I love her. I love her for her beautiful, shining soul."

It took everything I had not to spew my wine at the words. Apparently I didn't hide my laughter well enough because Neal shot me his Bad Boy look. It wasn't nearly as good as his Sexy Man look, probably because he didn't practice it in the mirror like he did the Sexy Man, so I ignored it, sipping my wine again.

"Uh huh. Whatever floats your boat, man."

"Love is an art form, magnificent and spontaneous, Moz. We can't choose who we love."

"True, true," I agreed, nodding. "But we *can* choose whether or not to send the person we supposedly love on a dangerous wild goose chase. Don't forget that, Neal."

"I love her, Moz, and nothing will ever change that. I *have* to find her." He stared at me with bog, soulful eyes. "No matter what it takes."

And that always had been our biggest problem, hadn't it?

o o o

"I told you so," I said for what had to be the four hundredth time that night, though honestly I was still digesting Neal's news from that morning. The revelation that our man with the ring was a Suit should have gone down easy since it pretty much confirmed everything I already knew about the Man. But I had to admit, I'd really thought Kate was behind this, to some extent, at least. She might not be bright, but she was a girl who got what she wanted. A gold-digger in the truest sense. Well, the truest modern sense considering that she didn't actually dig in the dirt looking for gold. That might mess up her nails.

Of course, all this was a working theory based off a sliver of information spouted off by an undercover Interpol agent. Despite being a big believer in a secret world government controlled by the executive officer of WalMart, I had to admit that I was a little suspicious of why Interpol would give enough of a shit to actually know this stuff. Neal worked for the New York office of the US federal government. Every big city in the country had a branch of the FBI? Why did little Miss Chinatown have a sudden interest in the kidnapping of a semi-retired forger's ex-girlfriend? But it *was* possible, and I had known from the beginning that the Feds would eventually screw Neal over. I just hadn't realized that it had started before Neal even escaped.

Really, this whole situation was a conspiratorist's dream.

I took a sip of wine and picked up one of the tiny slices of cheese off the tray, sticking it in my mouth. Might as well rub a little more salt in the wound. "I told you, didn't I?" I said through a mouth full of goat cheese. "I said, 'Neal, you make a deal with those devils and Cerberus will be clawing at your balls!'"

"I know, Moz," Neal said irritably as he strode across with room with a pink tub of stuff out of the bathroom. There was a rubber ducky peeking over the edge. "I couldn't believe it when Meilin told me."

"And to think I coached you in the glorious art of Pai Gow only to have the deformed arm of Big Brother increase its choke hold." I shook my head as I selected another piece of cheese. "Pai Gow is a sacred game. I do not teach sacred arts at the whim of the government."

Neal made a sound of annoyance. "Moz, chill out about that, would you? Lao was a killer. We took him down. This is a good thing."

"Acts performed at the will of the Feds are *never* a good thing, Neal," I snapped back. "Don't you see? They're holding Kate as leverage against you! This is what you get for striking a deal with a man like Burke."

"Look, she said it was a Fed, not *my* Fed, Moz," Neal protested as he began to line up little bottles next to the sink. "There's no way that Peter is behind it. I may not know much, but I know that for sure."

"Do you really?" I replied, grimacing a little as Neal opened the first bottle and a strong acidic smell began to seep through the room. "What proof do you have?"

Neal looked over his shoulder, scowling. "I don't need proof. He's innocent until proven guilty, Moz."

"Since when?" I shot back. "Life isn't a courtroom, Neal. Nobody sticks their hand on a Bible and swears to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. You may trust the Suit, but the Suit doesn't feel the same. It's obvious that he doesn't trust you as far as he can stick his dick in an electrical socket. Which is a pretty damn short distance, I might add. Hell, it might as well be no distance at all unless you're *really* willing to fry your balls off."

Neal made a face as he poured a cream substance into the bottle of acidic smelling goo, screwing on the top and shaking it. "You're wrong. We're partners, Mozzie, and he does trust me." He swung a towel over his shoulders and raised up the bottle, inspecting it closely.

"That stuff smells disgusting," I said, blinking back the tears rising up in my stinging eyes. "Maybe you should rent another place for mixing toxic chemicals."

"It's just hair permanent, Mozzie," Neal said, squirting the stuff into his hair. "The smell will go away in twenty-four hours. Hey, do you think you can roll the curls in the back? They're kind of hard to reach and I like to make sure they have good volume."

Oh, hell to the no. I stood abruptly, tossing back the last of my wine as swung my tote bag over my shoulder. "Call me when you need help forging pigeon blood rubies or a painite gem or the world's biggest sapphire. I don't stick my fingers into chemical sludge for anything less."

o o o

"He doesn't *trust* me, Moz," Neal said miserably, his voice tinny over the crappy prison line. "I thought we were *partners*. I thought he *trusted* me."

I let out a sigh, though what I really wanted to do was get on the subway, take a trip to a certain townhouse in the 'burbs, and shake his fist in the Suit's ignorant face. "Neal, I told you that you should never trust a Fed."

"Can we skip the 'I told you so' bit?" Neal snapped back. "I get it, okay? I'm a dumbass. But the fact that you told me so isn't going to keep me out of prison, Mozzie!"

"Touche," I said, feeling a little guilty. Neal *was* the one facing another four years of being squashed like a bug under Big Brother's fat fingers. "I'm sorry. You're right. Honestly, Peter is being pretty stupid, thinking that you would sign a jewel right after telling him that you signed those old bonds. You're not an idiot, and that sounds like idiot's work to me. He's being thick, really thick."

"I guess," Neal said, sounding depressed. "This is crazy. Makes me wish I actually *had* stolen the diamond. At least then I'd have something to be proud of. Tell me, how the hell can Peter think I hacked my anklet? I'm a fantastic forger, I can pick just about any lock, and no safe is truly safe when I;m around, but stick me in front of a console and the most I can do is check my email, watch I Can Haz a Cheesburger videos, and Google 'lost masterpieces.' I don't know how to rewrite basic code! I was the president of Art Club and a member of the Thespian Society, not a Mathlete who spent my days trying to make a robot shoot jelly beans or whatever the Robotics Club did. Hacking a computer program is somebody else's job."

"That's true," I agreed. "In fact, I contacted Alec Hardison, hacker extraordinaire, for that very reason. I wanted to get a handle on the system, see if there is *any* way you could have hacked it on your own. He took a look and said that the system is entirely intranet, no outgoing connections at all. There is no way to connect to the Internet at all on the computers the Marshals use to track anklets. It's a dedicated server."

"And that means…?"

"It means that our hacker had to be *inside* the building to do the job." I glanced at my watch. "Okay, look, I'm scheduled to take the Bar exam in thirty minutes. Average testing time is six to eight hours, so I should be out in three to four, fully licensed to represent you beyond the walls of Sing Sing's visitor's room. I'll see you then, okay?"

"Thanks Moz," Neal said. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I really thought he trusted me."

o o o

"Call me Haversham."

"Mr. Haversham, how nice to see you!" the relator said, looking a little overly enthusiastic. Her pudgy cheeks were flushed, eyes twinkling like a pedo in a Santa Suit. "I am so excited that you're interested in seeing the property! It's a wonderful little place, central to many office buildings—"

"You can cut the spiel," I said, reaching down for the metal briefcase at my feet. "I'm buying it. You said two-fifty, right?"

The woman cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable. "That's right…"

I shifted the numbers on the lock until they read '424242,' then popped open the case, spinning it around so she could see the bundles of crisp hundreds inside. "Well, here you go. Now, how 'bout them papers, huh? Got something for me to sign?"

The woman's eyes widened as she stared down at the stacks of cash. "I-I'm not sure—"

"Of course I threw in a little extra to cover your fees." I smiled innocently at her. "I hope fifty thousand will cover it."

Oh yeah, fifty thousand definitely covered it.

"Just let me get those papers for you, Mr. Haversham…"

o o o

"Peter's?" I hissed in disbelief, ducking down behind the counter as about a million men in blue swarmed the scene of Neal's swan dive. "You're at *Peter's*? Are you *insane?* I thought we agreed that you'd go to the safehouse!"

"You can't get much safer than this house, Moz," Neal said, keeping his voice low. "Look, I have to prove to Peter that I'm innocent. Running away will just make him think I'm guilty."

I let out a loud sigh, wiping sweat off my brow. "What if he arrests you?"

"I'm going to plead my case, tell him what we suspect about Fowler."

"Okay," I said, rolling my eyes. "I say again: What if he arrests you?"

There was a short silence. "I'm just going to have to trust that he won't."

"Dear God, you've really gone over to the Light Side," I muttered, shaking my head. "I may have to revoke your membership to the Society of Thieves, Forgers, and Other Intelligent Lawbreakers."

"I know, I know, it's crazy. But I trust him, Moz. I really do. I think he'll help you."

"You better be right," I said. The bell jingled over the door and a couple of sour looking cops stepped in, glancing around the place as if the Feds hadn't already spent an hour searching it from flour shelf to cookie sheet to dirty floor. "I got to go. I've got more do-gooders to distract. And I need to whip up another batch of bearclaws. They aren't kidding when they say that cops love their donuts."

"Okay, Mozzie. Thank you, man."

"Anything for you, Neal," I said with a sigh. "Anything for you."

o o o

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Let the peaceful zen wash over you. Let the universe seep into your pores, lifting you up in the warm, beautiful energy of the shining sky. Allow the—

BBRRRRING!

I grabbed my phone so fast that I nearly toppled over. Downward Dog position was not meant for answering calls.

"Neal, is that you?" I said, dropping down onto my yoga mat. "Please tell me that's you."

"It's me," Neal said, voice a little hoarse.

"Are you alive?" I demanded. "Did they try and lobotomize you?" I could see Fowler using a government funded hotel room for lobotomies. He seemed like the type.

Neal chuckled, but there was a bitter taste to it. "No, Mozzie. I'm fine." He choked slightly. "At least I think I'm fine. I need you to look into something for me."

My brow furrowed. "Of course. What is it?"

"They call it Project Mentor."

**End Season 1, First Half**


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